


Free

by MooseFeels



Series: In the Garden of Your Love [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blow Jobs, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hand Jobs, Teenage Castiel, gardener!dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-26
Updated: 2013-05-26
Packaged: 2017-12-13 00:34:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/817870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MooseFeels/pseuds/MooseFeels
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They both know it's a mistake, but they've been moving inexorably toward this. It's too late to stop now.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Free

His brother is going to Paris and his parents are going to Arizona on a business trip. Castiel invents a test he can’t miss so he can just stay home ( _No, really, Gabriel, I appreciate it, but I can’t miss this_ ).

They all leave by noon, and it’s just him in this house. This huge, empty house. He gives the chef the night off, the maids too. They thank him and he shrugs.

He doesn’t talk to Dean, though.

The flower crown eventually withered and dried, and Castiel draped the thing over his mirror. It’s high summer now, and Dean is always busy. Always beds to weed and flowers to trim and leaves to rake. He seems to have time and ways, though, of getting more little things to Castiel. Tiny tied bouquets. Corsages. And Castiel would tuck them in his room or press them between books or put them behind his ears.

They would look at each other, sometimes. Strange moments suspended through time like honey dragging down through the air.

It becomes evening and Castiel takes a deep breath and he walks out of his house and to the back of the property.

He walks past the hothouse and the pool and the tennis courts. Walks at the stone paths eventually melt into dirt paths and walks until he finds the Gardener’s Cottage.

Much like the chauffeur and the chef and some of the maids, the Gardener has a private residence provided by his family. It’s farther away and accessible by a different entrance so that there can be guests and some semblance of privacy. The cottage is small and white. A sturdy trellis holds climbing roses away from the brick. Herbs sprout rioutous and fragrant under the windows- rosemary and sage and thyme. Mint and Basil sprout up under window boxes. Castiel smiles.

He holds his breath.

He pauses before the door, ready to knock, when it opens.

Dean’s paused there, holding a garbage bag, in only his jeans.

Castiel puts his hand down.

“Hi,” Dean says.

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel answers. “I mean...Mister Winchester. I mean-”

“Dean,” he interrupts. “You can call me Dean.” He signals around Castiel. “May I?”

“Oh!” Castiel exclaims, moving out of the way. “Oh, of course.” Dean steps around him and walks away, door still open.

“You can go in, if you’d like,” he says over his shoulder. “I’ve actually just put some coffee on.”

Dean continues walking, and Castiel peers into the cottage. He looks back at Dean’s slowly disappearing figure. He steps inside.

The cottage is a couple of rooms, all connected. A kitchen, a bathroom behind a door, a living room, a bedroom hidden behind a beaded curtain. The walls are covered in bookshelves, mostly gardening books. There are a couple of worn paperbacks on the table though- Slaughterhouse V and The Hobbit. Castiel smiles at them.

There are no pictures on the walls, though, and no posters and no knick-knacks. In fact, most of it feels like he- like Dean- is ready to leave at any time.

Dean comes back in after a few minutes, wiping his hands on his jeans.

“Sorry about that,” he says, excusing himself. “Hadn’t taken out the trash in too long. Can I get you anything?”

Castiel bites his lip, feeling every bit the part of the nervous teenager. The blushing virgin, his imagination supplies.

The cottage is small. Dean is near. Near enough that Castiel can see the freckles over his nose, see the variation in green in his eyes, the places where his hair turns blonde and gold and brown, see the bend and shape of his muscles, see the long scar that hugs his side.

“Are you okay?” Dean asks, stepping a little further into his home, a little closer to Castiel.

Castiel dives through that space and kisses him.

And then he pulls away and says, “Oh god, I’m so sorry.”

Dean looks at him, very seriously. “Do you want this?” He asks. “Do you want-?”

“Yes,” Castiel breathes, horrified and hopeful at the same time. “I-I want you to fuck me.”

Dean steps forward and lays his hands on Castiel’s arms. Looks down and into him. “If you change your mind at any-”

“I won’t,” Castiel says.

“If you do,” Dean continues. “You have to promise me you’ll tell me. Swear. If I’m hurting you, if you want to stop or slow down, tell me.”

Castiel nods.

Dean’s hands move upward to cup Castiel’s face and he kisses him, long and slow.

It’s like being taken apart by fire- like being melted and twisted and burned alive. It makes him hurt and burn and sting and moan. He whimpers into Dean’s mouth and Dean pulls away, concerned. He looks at him. _You okay?_ The gaze asks.

Castiel stands on his tiptoes to kiss him again, and the kiss goes lopsided as Dean’s mouth curves into a grin underneath him.

Dean’s hand travels low, low, lower until it’s beginning to ease the buttons open on Castiel’s shirt. Castiel reacts by reaching out and actually touching Dean.

It was the damnedest thing- for all of the flowers and glances and little talks, they still hadn’t really touched until now.

Dean gasps like he’s being electrified, and Castiel bites at his lip. The shirt falls open and Castiel is bared underneath him. His body hair is dark and sparse, his chest is pale, his skin is chilled and responsive. Dean’s hand falls directly over his heart, and his pulse races into Dean’s fingertips. Castiel bucks into his touch and their teeth knock together as Castiel straightens into his space.

He whimpers and Dean’s hand wraps around his hips and the other one wanders downward even more and worries at his pants button. It opens, and Dean’s unzips them, slowly.

Castiel pulls away, panting. “Should we take this to a- to a bed?” He asks.

Dean’s eyes are huge and dizzy with want. He nods. “Yeah,” he says, voice low. “Yeah, that sounds like a good idea.” He wraps his hand into Castiel’s and tugs him trippingly into his bedroom, through the dark beaded curtain.

The room is small- a bed set against a bay window and barely enough room to move at either side of the full bed. There is an old quilt laid over it, and it is soft under his back where his open shirt has ridden up.

Dean looks at him. “Are you sure?”

Castiel nods. “ _Please_ ,” he says. “I’ve...so long,” he moaned.

Dean unbuttons his own pants and tugs them down slowly. “Am I your,” he pauses, blushing. “Am I your first?”

Castiel bites his own lips. “Yes,” he answers, and his voice sounds foreign to his own ears. Desperate and deep and grown. “I’ve never wanted anyone else.”

Dean’s eyes close almost blissfully and he eases down onto the bed, draped over Castiel. He kisses Castiel’s neck, sucking bright hickeys over thundering arteries. His breath is a unique touch over his skin, and it makes him squirm and twist eagerly.

His warm hand settles back onto Castiel’s hip and begins to slide his boxers down. Castiel drapes his arm over his eyes and sigh into the room.

Castiel feels the cool of the room and then the warmth of Dean’s hand over his hard cock. He’s touched himself in the night and thought of him. He’s dreamed this.

He couldn’t have dreamed that it could be this warm or electric or good.

“ _Dean,_ ” he whispers, and all of the touching stops. He looks up at Castiel, eyes wide.

“Do I need to stop?” he asks. Dean looks terrified. He looks both so big and so small on top of him- looks almost like a little boy.

Castiel reaches up and cradles his face with one hand. “Please don’t,” he says. “Please don’t, you’re perfect.”

And Dean smiles and shifts so that he can kiss into Castiel’s palm. His hand renews its sureness on Castiel’s cock. He jacks it a few times and Castiel is gasping and crying and writhing.

He cries incoherently into the air, and he comes embarrassingly soon.

Dean smiles lasciviously at the mess and licks it from Castiel’s belly. He’s hard again by the time Dean is done.

“Please,” Castiel begs. “Let me. For you.”

And Dean smiles and sighs and sits up.

Castiel sits up too, scooching back onto the bed so that there’s room for Dean. Dean sits down onto the bed and Castiel finds his mouth back at Dean’s mouth, sloppy and eager. His brain is fuzzy from coming, but it’s warm and safe.

He feels safe with Dean, he realizes. He feels like he’s at home.

His mouth goes lower and lower down Dean’s body like it’s the most natural thing in the world, and sucking Dean’s cock happens with an equal measure of ease. It’s all so easy.

He swallows when Dean comes in his mouth.

Dean jacks him off one last time, and then they fall asleep, naked in the bed together. Castiel’s parents will come home, tomorrow, and then they must return to low tension. They must return to polite talk and hidden glances. They will be respectable. Castiel will be too young and too rich. Dean will be too dumb and too poor.

Tonight, though, they are young and in love.

 


End file.
